


let your heart be light (from now on your troubles will be out of sight)

by Lysippe



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff-A-Thon [9]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, angst and fluff and insecurity all rolled into one neat little ball just for you, in which there is a lot of Emotional Baggage between them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 19:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: It was nearing midnight when Pippa showed up at Hecate’s door, broomstick still in hand, teeth still chattering from the cold, and warring feelings of fear and deep seated aggravation settled in her chest. And she hoped, truly hoped, that she was overreacting.





	let your heart be light (from now on your troubles will be out of sight)

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, I forgot to post yesterday, so I'm doubling up today. This is day 9: Frozen. In which Pippa is a lot more insecure than she lets on.

It was nearing midnight when Pippa showed up at Hecate’s door, broomstick still in hand, teeth still chattering from the cold, and warring feelings of fear and deep seated aggravation settled in her chest. And she hoped, truly hoped, that she was overreacting. That it was her paranoid, insecure brain that was making her so certain that something was horribly wrong. That there was some unseen, unmentioned stress driving Hecate to be shorter than usual, crabby and irritable and all-around unpleasant, despite Pippa’s best attempts at bringing the conversation around to less tempestuous subjects.

And of course, Pippa had done the sensible thing and just asked her about it. Perhaps, admittedly, a bit more bluntly than she should have. But Hecate had denied it outright, with a terse, impatient “ _ No _ ” and a scowl that told Pippa that the topic of conversation was over.

As, apparently, were all others.

She had tried to engage Hecate in anything she could think of, from chattering about an amusing incident involving her chanting mistress and a string of holiday lights, to offering up her thoughts Hecate’s most recent academic paper. But to Pippa’s immense frustration, nothing had taken. And when Hecate had ended their mirror call, abruptly and far sooner than was normal, Pippa had to wonder. If all of the fears she had pushed down, worked so hard to convince herself were in her head, were projections of all the years of scorn she had endured from the traditional witching community, were a contributing factor. If the insecurities she had lived with for so many years, were about to be proven true. If it was her. Something she had done, or said, or whether Hecate had, once and for all, actually grown bored of her this time. Had finally decided that Pippa truly was frivolous, or banal, or simply not worth the effort she had been putting forth. 

Her rational mind, of course, was reasonably certain that the odds of that being true were fairly low. That generally speaking, things were going well between them. That the hours they spent on the mirror; the softness in Hecate’s eyes, in her voice, when only Pippa was around; the way Hecate would reach out to her, gently laying a hand on Pippa’s thigh, or interlacing their fingers without thought, were all signs of this.

But then, that was what she had thought last time, too, and Hecate had broken her heart then.

And so Pippa, in a rare act of insecurity-fueled impulsiveness (it was one of many traits she had found herself in the position of having to tone down over the years), had simply flown over to Cackle’s to see for herself. It was a relatively low-risk venture, the suffocating darkness and frigid winds aside. Both Cackle’s and Pentangle’s were out for the winter holidays, leaving both of them with no one in particular to worry about, no classes to plan or places they absolutely had to be the next morning. The perfect time to talk about--about whatever it was, whatever  _ this _ was.

Whatever they were. 

Though she was beginning to wonder if she truly wanted to know. (She did, of course she did. Knowing was always better than not knowing, even if knowing had the potential to break her heart just as thoroughly.)

In this same wave of insecurity, however, Pippa found herself growing more and more anxious, her mind going to more and more distressing places, and so it was with an almost frantic rashness that Pippa had grabbed her broom and hopped on it without a single thought to the weather, or the length of the flight. As such, her state upon arriving at Cackle’s was less than ideal. So when she knocked on the door to Hecate’s room, frozen--quite literally, in some aspects--and shaking harder than she ought to be, she shouldn’t have been surprised to see Hecate’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in concern.

“ _ Honestly _ , Pippa. Your hair is frozen stiff. You couldn’t have at least cast a drying spell before you flew out here unannounced?” Hecate’s tone was chiding, stern, one Pippa remembered well from their school days. From when Pippa was a bit more carefree, a but more untethered than she had the luxury of being now. (Reckless, Hecate had liked to call it then.) But Pippa knew the tone for what it was, and heard, with a small, tentative wave of relief, the concern in Hecate’s voice. Saw the worry in her eyes as her fingers brushed against a single frozen lock of hair. Felt it start to soften at Hecate’s touch, warm and dry against her shoulder.

Pippa wanted to reach out to touch her. To pull her in, cup her cheek. But she came here for a  _ reason _ , and that reason was not about to be interrupted by Pippa’s baser impulses. So she took a hesitant step back, forcing herself to ignore the small frown that creased Hecate’s features when she did, and fixed Hecate with a look.

“I think we need to talk,” Pippa said, and Hecate’s frown deepened. “I know, I know. Not words that often foreshadow anything good,” she added with a wave of her hand that she hoped looked more dismissive than it felt.

“Not generally, no.” Hecate’s tone was mild, but Pippa had always been able to see past Hecate’s facades.

Or at least, she had always thought she could.

But history had already proven her wrong once.

Pippa sighed. “May I come in? I do have a rather strong preference for not having a heart-to-heart standing in your doorway. Unless,” she added, a far worse thought occurring to her, “you plan on sending me away, of course.”

Hecate moved aside silently, gesturing with one hand in the general direction of the small black leather loveseat beside her disappointingly unlit fireplace. Pippa took the silent invitation in stride, and perched herself as far as she could in the corner of the seat. When Hecate sat but made no motion to speak, again, Pippa realized that anything she wanted to be said tonight was going to have to start with her. So, she took a deep breath, and let it out, the air leaving her lungs in a frustrated whoosh that she knew without having to look had gotten Hecate’s attention.

“What happened tonight, Hecate?” she asked softly, willing her voice to stay remain even and quite pleased with herself when it did, for the most part. The slight hitch on  _ tonight  _ was a bit iffy, but there was a small possibility of some sort that Hecate hadn’t noticed. 

Hecate’s ever-deepening frown, however, told her otherwise. And when her only response was to say, “I’m not sure what you mean,” all of Pippa’s fear and insecurity and frustration bubbled over.

“ _ How _ , exactly, are you  _ not sure _ ?” There was more acid in her voice than there should rightfully have been, her words sharper than intended, than she would ever normally allow. “As far as I knew, tonight was a perfectly normal night, but somewhere along the line, you seem to have decided otherwise. You were sullen, and churlish, and…” Pippa paused, saw the stricken look on Hecate’s face for the split second it was there before she managed to settle her mask of impassivity back in place. And Pippa realized, in that moment, that the words she had used were the same ones that classmates had thrown at Hecate like stones for so many years. That  _ sullen  _ and _ churlish  _ and _ dour  _ and  _ moody  _ were words Hecate had heard her entire life, likely from a wide variety of sources.

But not from Pippa.

Never from Pippa.

Immediately ashamed, Pippa stared down at her hands, taking a long moment to steady her breathing, get her temper back under control, before looking back up. “And I just don’t know why,” she finished softly, pushing every bit of hurt, of fear and concern and insecurity that she could into those six words. Hoping that Hecate understood.

When Pippa looked up, Hecate was staring at her, eyes boring into her as though she were realizing something for the first time. It was the same stare that Pippa had seen induce profound discomfort in children and adults alike. That she had never truly been subjected to, until this moment. And as much as it did make her feel a bit like a specimen under a microscope, Pippa understood - or thought she understood, in any event - the genuine curiosity and confusion behind it. 

Hecate sighed, long and deep and resigned. “A bad night, Pippa. Nothing more. You have my word. I have them.”

Pippa opened her mouth to tell Hecate that, of course she had bad nights. That everyone had bad nights, and she was entitled to them. But Hecate shook her head slightly, and Pippa pursed her lips, waiting.

“I… apologize,” Hecate said slowly, haltingly, in the way that Pippa knew meant she was searching for the correct words to express herself, “that my… disposition tonight was concerning enough to you that you felt compelled to fly all the way out to Cackle’s.” Again, Pippa started to speak, but again, Hecate motioned for her to wait. “We knew each other so long ago, and so much has changed since then. Trust has been broken, and rebuilt, however slowly.” Hecate bowed her head slightly, pursing her lips, acknowledging, Pippa knew, her own culpability. “But a great deal has not, as well. And this is one of those things. One of those things that is unlikely to ever change.”

The pointedness of her words made certain Pippa knew them for what they were. She understood the warning, the out that Hecate was giving her. Remembered, suddenly, the nights when they were girls when Pippa would knock on Hecate’s door, only to be met with silence that was only broken, grudgingly, when Pippa would knock harder and demand a response. Remembered being met with nothing more than a muffled “ _ Not tonight, Pippa. _ ” 

And she had understood, then, that this was just how Hecate was. That this was a part of her nature that she had to accept, even if she didn’t understand it.

But somewhere, Pippa realized, those memories had been lost to time, along with her patience. Along with her unconditional acceptance and trust. 

“I was afraid,” Pippa admitted , her voice just barely above a whisper. “That you had truly grown sick of me this time.”

“I never will.” 

The words were so simple, so plainly spoken. But Pippa knew them for what they were, knew the difficulty with which Hecate expressed anything quite so unconditional. That coming from Hecate, it was one of the most vulnerable, most intimate things she could possibly have said. And Pippa, at least in that moment, believed it.

A long moment passed in silence between them, the air thick with all the words still left unsaid. 

It was Pippa who broke it, with a soft, gentle, “Hiccup?”

“Yes?”

Pippa smiled, wan and self-deprecating, and grasped Hecate’s hand, giving it the smallest of squeezes. “Just tell me next time.”

“I’ll try to remember that, in the future,” Hecate said, and it wasn’t a promise, but it was plenty. It was a promise of, if nothing else, a future together.

“Thank you,” Pippa said, soft and genuine. Then, in a moment of realization, “I can leave now, if you’d prefer. If you wanted to be alone--”

“I don’t,” Hecate interrupted, gently tugging on Pippa’s hand still in hers, pulling her closer. “I believe I have had my fill of solitude for the night.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hiccup,” Pippa laughed, smile still in place. She leaned over for a kiss, startled when Hecate’s lips instead brushed the tip of her nose. Long slender fingers danced through the air, and a fire roared to life in the fireplace. 

“You’re still  _ cold _ , Pippa,” Hecate said, with open distaste. But she shifted an arm, allowing Pippa to huddle closer, feeling with immense relief the warm air radiating from the once dormant fireplace. “Come warm up.”

**Author's Note:**

> Join me on Tumblr @ thebestdressedrebelinhistory


End file.
